Paperwork
by MischeviousMalefactor
Summary: After the Apocawasn't, Heaven and Hell finally decide to crack down on the paperwork—leaving very little room for romance. Crowley decides he's had enough, and Aziraphale decides there's just a little bit of room for one more rebellion. Crowley/Aziraphale. Minor Warning for Fluff and Cavities Violation.


**SUMMARY: **After the Apocawasn't, Heaven and Hell finally decide to crack down on the paperwork—leaving very little room for romance. Crowley decides he's had enough, and Aziraphale decides there's just a little bit of room for one more rebellion. Crowley/Aziraphale, FLUFF AND CAVITY WARNING.

**DISCLAIMER: **Still got legs, but still not mine.

**NOTES: **So I've been meaning to get back into fanfiction, but didn't quite know how. Thus, I decided to start off small, with a tiny fic on this new and barely improved account. First fic for this fandom; did I get it? Did I fall or saunter vaguely downwards? Please tell me. Thank you very much.

**PAPERWORK**

They just couldn't seem to catch a break.

There was a quaint little cottage in the South Downs that a certain bookish angel and a particularly classy demon liked to call 'home'. It was where they came back from work every day, where they got completely sodding drunk whenever they felt like it, where they did their paperwork, their reading, their hobbies, their love. However, on this irritatingly sunny, brilliant morning, the latter was being temporarily forgotten, tucked away into a small box and shoved beneath the bed, for later…or never, at this rate.

Crowley had reading glasses. They had been given to him by his husband as a sort of joke, because whenever Crowley wanted to read something, he usually had Aziraphale read it to him, and it was definitely not because he wanted to cuddle or fondle or any of the sort. So Aziraphale had gotten him reading glasses for those occasions when they would settle down onto the couch and just read, even though Crowley wasn't exactly the one reading. Crowley found them endearing, though he loathe to admit it, and he never failed to wear them when being read to.

Today, the glasses were being used as far more than an object of endearment. They were being used for _work. _Actual paperwork.

Anthony J. Crowley had never despised one of his own creations so much in his entire immortal life.

He'd been at it since five in the morning, and so had Aziraphale, filling out forms and answering requirements and only stopping to talk to each other to ask something ridiculous like, "Do you think that one bloke in the store that one time counted?" or "Was that young woman at that new restaurant one of yours or one of mine?" And once they'd received the answer, they'd go back to work, and they wouldn't say another word for the next hour or so.

All the papers were starting to look the same. The white and the black were starting to blur together, and it made Crowley's head burn. He blessed under his breath.

His pen had run out of ink.

Tossing it aside, Crowley materialized another one out of thin air, and returned to his work. His wrist was beginning to get sore, and that was quite a feat, considering his mortal corporation shouldn't be _too _susceptible to such a miniscule pain.

Crowley dropped the pen on the couch he was working on and rubbed his yellow serpentine eyes, sighing loudly. This was probably Heaven and Hell's sick, twisted way of getting back at them for the Apocawasn't, by increasing Crowley's soul requirement _and _Aziraphale's salvation requirement at the _exact same time. _The numbers were ridiculous—fifty-five a month was just _ridiculous, _especially considering the way Crowley worked. One small taint at a time, one miniscule blackout at a time, one extremely crappy internet connection at a time…and considering they'd only recently relocated...

Ridiculous.

In retrospect, it was probably payback for getting 'married' without anyone's permission as well. But that was also ridiculous, because it wasn't even what one would call a _marriage. _They'd simply popped (quite literally) over to the Ritz one day **(1) **as usual, ordered the usual dishes and beverages, and, as per the usual, went to feed the ducks at St. James. As usual.

The only thing that made it unusual was the fact that, really quite randomly, Crowley had glanced.

He'd glanced at Aziraphale, and had gotten quite an eyeful of tartan and blonde tousled curls and soft smiles and glasses pushed askew and the scent of cocoa and books and Eden and before he'd known what he was doing, Crowley had interrupted him in the middle of some sort of rant about ineffability-

"Aziraphale, marry me."

It hadn't been the most romantic of proposals, but after a long, meaningful silence that would have put words to shame, Aziraphale had smiled another soft smile, pressed their lips together, and replied,

"Of course."

Adam had been thrilled. He'd wanted to throw a great big party, complete with huge balloons and explosions and rock music and Indiana Jones, but that idea had been tossed into oblivion after the neighbors (R.P. Tyler) had complained. So they just settled for the rings and the comforting idea that they were married in their minds. Of course, Adam _had _thrown a tiny celebration anyway, but it had gotten so complicated and large that in the end, no one remembered what they were even celebrating. But it was the thought that counted, and Adam was a good godchild.

"A real ceremony would have been nice," Crowley would always lament, and Aziraphale would always reply with something along the lines of, "When it all dies down, dear. When it all dies down."

It _had _been directly after the apocawasn't, after all.

Crowley realized he'd been staring at the same question for twenty minutes now. Groaning, he filled the rest of the paper out and tossed the forty-third one into the pile below, and caught sight of a tartan blanket lying several feet away from him. Tartan. Tartan.

Aziraphale…

"This is ridiculous!" Crowley announced, jumping up from the sofa in a flurry of pillows and paperwork. He placed the reading glasses down carefully onto the coffee table and headed into the study, where Aziraphale preferred to work. He didn't even bother to knock, just barged in with all the grace of a man worn out from work, and when Aziraphale had looked up to question his actions, Crowley had grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.

When they pulled apart, Aziraphale looked dazed, and he asked, "Dearheart. What?"

Crowley just kissed him again. "Look at this. Look at us. This is—this is _insanity, _angel, are you even looking at this?"

Aziraphale hummed softly and pressed another kiss to Crowley's lips, apparently grateful for this distraction. "At what, dear?"

The demon pulled away and gestured to the large mound of paperwork that was piled high upon the angel's desk. "At this. Paperwork is one thing, but this much? This is _abuse, _we're newlyweds—"

"You quite enjoy saying that, don't you?" the angel interrupted blithely, absentmindedly stroking the ring that decorated his finger.

Crowley stopped his rant in order to allow himself a grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

For a moment, they did nothing but smile at each other like complete and utter fools, but finally, Aziraphale said, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe…they're giving us more work _because _of our marriage?"

"Yes, I've acknowledged that, but I've also thought that maybe they were getting back at us for the apocalypse."

"Or lack thereof," the angel added helpfully.

"Yes," agreed Crowley, absentmindedly fixing Aziraphale's glasses while he thought. "Anyway, that's not what's bothering me. Well—it's part of the reason, we really should complain, angel, but the reason I'm so upset is, well…"

Crowley paused mid-rant, realizing with horror that what he was about to say sounded so pathetic and childlike and possessive, but he had to get it out.

"Have you seen us this past week?" he began. "It's _Thursday. _Every day we're filling out paperwork, and when we're not doing that we're going out to find more people to tempt…"

"Or save," the angel added helpfully, once more.

"Yes." Crowley nodded, pausing to allow Aziraphale to fix his tousled dark hair out of habit. "What I'm saying is, this whole bloody situation's turned us into robots, angel. We didn't…we didn't greet each other this morning, is what I'm saying, and we always…"

The demon's face burned. The angel took three seconds. "Oh, _Crowley, _dear…"

"Don't. Just don't even…"

"Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was taut and reasonable; it was the sort of voice he used when he knew something you didn't, when you knew you were absolutely screwed because of course, 'Zira was right and you were obviously wrong, so there. It was a tone of voice Crowley's mind hadn't been built to ignore. He looked up.

Aziraphale was shaking, a hand to his mouth. Crowley was alarmed.

"Are you—are you crying?"

Aziraphale shook his head.

"You're laughing. You're laughing at me. Angel."

The angel shook his head, but continued laughing into his palm. Crowley was beginning to get extremely distressed, but before he could say anything or complain about it, Aziraphale kissed him softly and pulled back, a gleam in his eyes. The demon had to blink, he was so bright.

Aziraphale smiled. "Crowley?"

Said demon didn't miss a beat. "Yes, 'Zira?"

"Good morning. Did you make coffee? I watered the plants, so you don't have to today. Oh." Aziraphale flattened the wrinkles out of Crowley's red t-shirt, then met his eyes again. "And I love you."

Crowley smiled a toothy, mischievous grin that tickled the angel's mind and reminded him of Eden. "Morning, angel," Crowley began. "Yeah, I made coffee, but the taste's a bit off. I told you not to go near those plants, you know they like you better. Hey, let's skip work today. Let's go to the Ritz." A thoughtful pause. "I love you too."

Seconds later, he was coughing and in dire need of a glass of water, so Aziraphale miracled one into existence and handed it to him. Crowley thanked him and gulped it down.

"My dear, I told you not to strain yourself trying to say it…" Aziraphale spoke softly, but he was proud and, if possible, he'd fallen more in love in the last five minutes than he had in six thousand years.

"It was worth it," Crowley choked out, but he was smiling. "Date night."

"Right now?" Aziraphale queried, surprised but amused.

"Right now," the demon replied, pressing his forehead to the angel's and releasing a throaty chuckle when their noses bumped. "Let's get outta here. Let's just get _outta _here."

So they did.

**(1): **Though, if prompted, Anthony J. Crowley could tell you the exact day, right down to the weather forecast, what they were wearing, and what crap was on the telly late at night.

**A/N: **Whoever said that fluff was bad for you? It was originally going to be longer, but I liked where it ended. Kind of. What do you think? Reviews are nice, thank you. No flames, they are the stuff of the devil. Pun absolutely intended.


End file.
